


Cat burglar

by cherrygoldlove, nebelkraehe



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Flirting, Fluff and Crack, Fluffy, Fluffy Ending, Funny, Happy Ending, M/M, Masturbation, No Sex, Underwear, Underwear Kink, Underwear Theft, by a cat, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-28 04:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12598620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrygoldlove/pseuds/cherrygoldlove, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nebelkraehe/pseuds/nebelkraehe
Summary: Q's cat is a bit of a thief... with an underwear kink.





	Cat burglar

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a 9gag post found [here](https://9gag.com/gag/a8M2703/are-you-missing-underwear).

 

Remy walked downstairs to his kitchen, yawning and running his hand through his hair making them even more tousled than usual. No matter. It was a Saturday, he had a blissful day off before him, and he could and planned to stay in pyjamas all day. 

Adjusting his glasses on his nose, he round the corner to his kitchen, marveling at the sun streaming in and bathing in light his tiny back garden. He loved this terrace house. He moved here three months ago, finally able to afford a neat place like this. His cats were quite disgruntled at first, especially Maggie, short for Magpie. She got her name from her deep fondness of shiny toys. Or toys in general. She loved to collect and bring home weird things she found entertaining, like dead butterflies, the more colorful the better, flowers, both fake and live and such. The other, Miss Sunshine, Sunny for short, spent her days mostly in the garden now or in his study, totally peaceful and content, but Maggie couldn’t quite settle, always being out and about returning once in awhile. 

Meows welcomed him the moment he stepped up to the fridge, both fluffy shapes twisting around his ankles. He greeted them warmly, quickly pulled out their food and cat milk and filled their bowls. 

Content and happy with their chewing noises and loud purring, Remy got back to making himself his favourite morning treat - a cup of earl grey. He poured the water into the kettle and turned it on, he mindlessly wiped the counter with the blue cloth, pulled out his big, flowery mug and put some tea leaves in a cat head shaped tea infuser and secured it in the mug as he waited for the water to boil. 

He looked around himself again lazily, and only on a backward glance to the kitchen counter did his mind stop on the blue cloth on the counter. He didn’t have any blue dishrags in the kitchen. 

Approaching the blue material again, this time with caution he looked at it closer, then reached for a fork and picked the cloth up for inspection.

Blue, low-raise male briefs stared him in the face.

He looked around, confused. The alarms haven’t been triggered, there was no one in the house as far as he could say and he hadn’t had a lover in a very long time, and definitely no last night one night stands.

After a moment, he looked at Maggie, the cat looking back at him with what he thought was a proud meow, the cat’s cream and black tail lifting up in a happy, content question mark. 

Storing the underwear in one of the empty boxes he yet didn’t throw away after moving in, Q gave his cat another look before pouring boiled water into his tea mug and walking back up to his bedroom.

 

*

 

It kept happening constantly over the next weeks, that Remy would find different pieces of underwear and socks all around his apartment.

One week it was a series of socks - a black and grey sock here and there, some fancy soft beige one there... They were obviously not his, much too big and much too boring in color and style. He preferred his socks to be a bit silly, really. Stripes, flowers, characters from movies or cartoons or such.

He stored each and every item into the same box and worriedly observed as the collection grew. Being quite sure that Maggie was stealing only from one of his neighbours as the clothing items paired up and some turned to be the exact same styling, probably bought again and again as it kept disappearing, Remy was afraid that one day he would be approach by a very angry guy and accused of theft…

 

*

He got promoted at work and his working schedule was turned up on it’s head. He came back late at night, left early, sometimes he slept at his new office and only once in awhile, when he got a moment to himself, did he walk around his apartment and gathered all the underwear and socks and a random tie here and there. He now had quite a collection.

 

*

Q startled awake with a yelp as something landed on his face.

With a quick swipe he took whatever it was off his face and looked angrily at Maggie, the cat happily purring and dancing on the bed, immensely proud of herself.

Trying to remain calm, after all, he did only sleep two hours, he looked at what the cat dragged in and… oooh sweet Lord.

It was the softest pair of underwear he ever held in his hands. Silk? Something else? He was hardly an expert in materials that weren't the explosive kind. The boxer briefs were exquisite in touch. They were pure black, with embroidery in deep, navy blue and silver with a soft, shiny linings around the penis pocket in the front and Remy’s mouth ran dry as he imagined a man’s body clad in them. A well muscled, broad shouldered, with sculptured stomach and… Yes, this pouch in front of the briefs could contain quite a lot.

His mind still not quite there, Remy allowed himself a sniff… they were clean, just like the rest of the things Maggie brought in, just a whiff of some cologne and the fresh air of the morning. 

Painfully hard - he didn’t so much as think of jacking off in the past month, much too busy and tired for it - Remy quickly undressed and laid back on his bed. One bony hand wrapped around his hard cock, rubbing furiously, the other clutching the sexy underwear and rubbing it, smoothing across his nipples, down his stomach and back again, then down, hooking them under his balls and pushing against his perineum, fingers ghosting over his hole as he came hard.

Fuck. 

 

*

 

A little distracted, eyes glued to his tablet, Remy headed up towards his boss’ office. He was made Q, short for quartermaster, a Head of his own technical department at MI6.

And of course the first month of his new job has been crazy, he was ridiculed and made to look like a fool by a guy called Silva, the MI6 building blew up, his… first boss who hired him died, there was a bunch of agents he had to take care of and guide, improvements to be made in his branch and total security systems… and Bond. He had to deal with Bond.

A walking, talking, breathing (utterly handsome and charming) menace of a man that was making Remy loose sleep in more ways than one.

And with the things Maggie kept dragging in and leaving all over Q's place… it was hard. Q stopped dead in his tracks, a blush rising on his cheek. 

It wasn't time to think things like that.

Clearing his throat, he righted his clothes and lifted his head up starting to walk again. He needed to be professional now.

… and jack off with the black, silk boxer shorts again later.

 

*

 

“M.” Remy nodded at the man sitting behind the big, oak desk as he walked in and then sat in the only other unoccupied chair in the room. Looking to his right, he nodded at the blond sitting to his right. “Bond.”

The man turned to look at him, blue eyes cold and face impassive. “Q.”

Bond looked weary and tired, there were lines on the man's face that weren't there before, and it took all Remy had not to reach out and touch the man's hand to try and comfort. But he stopped himself. Licking his lips he nodded to himself, looking down and then his eyes cut to James’ form again, swiped over the crossed knees and the socks and…

Remy knew those socks.

Bond was, surprisingly, wearing unmatching socks and Remy knew both of them. One has been delivered to his bathroom two days ago - a striped grey and blue one - and the other he found this morning by his pillow. A deep grey one with white and green lining on top. Designer. 

He swallowed hard.

How high were the chances of this being totally accidental and not connected?

Close to zero.

He jacked off with Bond's underwear. He knew exactly what kind of underwear the man wore…

He could guess what type and colour the underwear Bond was wearing right now based on his vast knowledge of the man's preferences. And another thought surfaced in his mind - James must live close by. Very close by.

How didn't they meet before on the way home?

Yes, the man drove and Remy took the tube and lately both of them have been home rarely.

Oh God. He rubbed Bond's underwear all over his body and nipples and belly and penis and… Remy could feel a furious blush rising on his cheeks.

“Q?” M asked, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Is everything alright? May we start?”

Clearing his throat, eyes blinking furiously and looking everywhere but at Bond, Remy nodded forcing a smile.

“Perfectly fine, M. As you requested…”

He missed Bond giving him a curious, puzzled look as he dived into explaining the problem at hand.

 

*

 

Mindlessly switching channels, James Bond, Her Majesty's Secret Agent was currently enjoying his down time. After the craze of the last months he was exhausted, in body and mind, but still could not rest.

His apartment was quite bare, had the minimum needed to sustain a life - a couch, a tv with a shelve under, a coffee table, a bed, a dresser and a walk in closet. And apparently an unwanted guest popping in and out and out of all things worth stealing - he had to go for Bond's underwear, socks and ties. Thankfully, his suits and dress shirts remained unscathed. 

He couldn't figure out how the intruder got in and why only this things got taken. Was the person a fetishist?

Ignoring it for some time before, putting it down to the cleaning services being not up to par or his own forgetfulness whilst something much more important was on his mind, and then having no time at all to deal with it being away on the missions, James was determined to figure out what the hell was going on. Having returned couple days ago he realised how much exactly of his things had vanished and he was furious. 

And curious.

He had some security measures in place and neither of them were tinkered with as far as he could say. The window he had unfortunately left open a smidgen during his absence was definitely not enough for a person to slide in or open it further without damage to the frame and the construction James had around it. He was quite puzzled.

So now, nursing a whiskey, a gun tucked under the pillow nearby, he was multitasking - waiting for the fetishist robber and trying to relax a bit, let his mind wander in new territories.

He was almost sleeping, probably nodded off a bit a moment before when he spotted movement in the corner of his eye. How the f-

And there it went, a cream and black colored blur of a cat carrying off his newest white silk shorts! 

Bond got of the couch in record speed in the pursue of the fluffy thief but by the time he made a step the cat was jumping onto the windowsill and disappearing into the night. Swearing loudly, James made a mad dash towards his balcony, arriving at the rail he could just make out the cat and the white underwear moving towards the crossroads to the right of the building.

Jumping over the rail he continued the pursuit.

Barely making the corner, he managed to spot the cat's tail disappearing into the garden of one of the buildings. Not thinking much, James jumped over the fence, tore through a bush of flowers and out the back of the property, jumping onto the roof of a garage. There he lost the cat for a second, looking left and right, he finally spotted the furry bastard walking happily and lightly on top of a narrow wall between properties.

Swearing again, James followed.

With a burst of speed to help him keep his balance over the narrow strip, he still had to wave his hands a bit over the last couple steps before he jumped and rolled into a garden. Up in a crouch he found himself looking straight at the thief some two meters away. Both froze, the cat's eyes wide and black in the faint light coming from the nearby building. 

A bird chirped and they both sprung into action again.

The cat moved swiftly under a long-stretched cover of some flower bushes and having all his attention on the beast, James had to come to a fierce stop, almost crashing painfully into an iron gate. Climbing over he followed the burglar onto the street and what continued was definitely a record speed over a hundred meters hurdles over trash bins until the cat jumped up the stairs and then wall towards a barely open window, slipping inside the dimly lit inside.

James came up short by the doors of a terrace house. Breathing deeply, or who was he joking - panting, bending forward and resting his hands on his knees for coupe precious seconds before he reclaimed his anger and run up the short flight of stairs to pound hard on the doors.

Waiting for the doors to open, he impatiently knocked again, preparing to lay into the owner of the furry thief.

With the locks coming undone he took a deep breath. Anger rising even higher when his thief slid out through the barely open doors - purring and dancing happily and proudly - and for a second Bond really wanted to dive down and strangle the creature but then deciding it really wouldn't help matters he looked up at the owner, now standing in the open doorway.

And stopped dead in his tracks.

There stood his Quartermaster. Looking sheepish with a faint blush on his cheeks, dressed in horrible, white, pink polka dots pyjamas and a bottle green robe the man gave him a tight, insecure smile, not in a bit surprised it seemed.

“You taught him to do that didn't you?” Bond blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind.

 

*

 

Heart beating wildly, Q just opens the doors wider, motioning the disgruntled agent to enter and with an annoyed huff, Bond walks past him towards the living room.

He knew the day would come, yet he feels completely unprepared to see the sweaty, angry man pacing in his house. Should he apologize on behalf of Maggie? Should he just give the things back and try to placate the agent in some way?

Locking the doors, he moves cautiously closer to the agent.

“W-would you like some tea?”

His met with an angry stare of the cold, blue eyes and feels his stomach drop. He can deal with the man when they're at work, stand up to the childish and at times stupid behaviour and put the blond in his place but now he feels oddly vulnerable. 

Seeing his startled look, James it seems, deflates.

He straightens himself up and giving Remy a shadow of a pleasant smile, asks for whiskey.

Alright then.

 

*

 

After that night, Remy packs the box of Bond's belongings he has accumulated and through an MI6 courier arranges to return the possessions to the man.

He leaves the black boxers and one of the ties behind.

 

*

 

It's late in the evening, and he's alone in his office. He has computer parts scattered around himself on the desk and he's tinkering with a new mini computer. It's not a tight deadline project, so he really doesn't have to do overtime, but Bond is away on a mission and he feels better to be available to aid if needed, even if it seems all is calm and under control.

They've been chatting, Bond and him, for some time now, discussing parts of the mission, but now, considering himself and Bond off hours, he allows the conversation to get more eased.

“I've had a morning delivery.” he admits.

He hears a chuckle on the other side of the line.

“Don't tell me, my new bottle green briefs.”

Q grins.

“Exactly. Maggie has good taste.”

“You mean _I_ have good taste.”

“For all I know you bunch order them at random and it's her that paw-picks the really nice ones.”

“Don't flatter that thief of a cat.”

“Why not? She has quite the good taste.”

There's a low chuckle again and a shiver goes down Remy's back when Bond voice goes growly low.

“It seems so do you, if you appreciate her huntings so much. Tell me, Q, what does _your_ underwear wardrobe look like.”

Q blushes.

He's as eclectic in his underwear as he is in all his clothes. In his drawers he has everything from what everyone makes fun of and calls “tighty whities” that are actually really comfortable, to all kinds of boxers and briefs in all colors and cuts and… an occasional pair or two. Or five. Of something lacy and silky with a ribbon and a bow… but he'd be damned if he admitted that.

“That's for me to know and for you to never find out.” he takes a smidgen too long to answer.

Another chuckle makes it over the line.

“Careful, Q. You're making me curious.”

Blush rising on his cheeks, Remy smiles.

“Silly me, what have I done.”

 

*

 

His notifications pinged up couple minutes ago signaling that Bond entered into MI6 premises. It was a late evening now, only couple more minions walking around and Q was finishing up a piece of code, anger bubbling under his skin.

He made his typing harsh and audible when he heard the doors behind him open.

“I believe I told you, _once again_ might I add, to bring the equipment back in one piece.” Remy said in tight, clipped tones. “Not to throw it at random at different street corners of Bangladesh as you zoom past on a scooter.” 

It has been a brilliant selection of miniaturised and nicely hidden spy aids that has been Q’s pet project for a while. Now all gone and scattered thanks to the blond menace.

“Breadcrumb trail, Q.” came Bond’s light tone from behind his back. “And I believe so are those, though totally unnecessary now.”

That had Remy’s curiosity peaking and he spared the agent a quick look. And felt his mouth drop in shock. 

For reasons unknown - he must’ve somehow mixed up a pair of his not so glamorous underwear into the box he usually gathered Maggies spoils in, or maybe the cat itself done it - Bond now proudly displayed between his palms a pair of reasonable, white undies much, much too small for the man’s bulky frame.

Moving fast Remy grabbed at the piece of clothes and pulled it off Bond’s wide spread palms and quickly tucked it into one of his pockets, an embarrassed blush rising on his cheeks as the blond’s shit eating grin turned into deep, rumbling chuckles. Q hastily looked around if someone spotted what happened, thankfully the room was empty.

“Now you can’t say I didn’t bring anything back with me this time.”

“You’re insufferable!”

 

*

 

A week later, on a probably foolish sense of bravado he packs what he thinks is one of his sexiest pieces of underwear in the next box he now regularly once every two weeks, or whenever Bond is back from a mission, returns to the blond. 

This time he gets it returned in an expensive looking gift box from a brand he doesn't recognise along with garter belt and stockings in his size. There's a note too - ‘Got mixed into my things again. Do let it happen more.’

Q can't help a smile blooming on his lips.

 

*

 

They face a long strip of heavy activity of terrorist attacks all over the globe afterward, long and frequent missions making it hard for them to see each other live, making so with just their flirting over the coms.

“Guess what I found in the evening on my kitchen counter. Elephant briefs, Bond? Really? That's a lot of wishful thinking with that size of the trunk.”

“Want to bet on it?” 

“I’ll think of a good consolation prize.”

 

*

 

It’s barely light outside when Remy is torn out of his bed and forced to move and get ready to go into his office, some or other security threat on the horizon.

Mostly dressed he stumbles into his kitchen when he hears a doorbell ring.

Curious, the driver to pick him up should be there no earlier that in ten more minutes, he goes to see who it is. After checking the security cams, he opens the doors to a bleary eyed and tired looking Bond, the man’s hand outstretched.

“Give me one pair back, I’m all out.”

Remy looks without understanding at the man for what is probably much too long and James shakes his open palm meaningfully again.

“Underwear. Give me back a pair. The bloody cat stole all the clean ones when I was away and the rest is at the cleaner.”

His brain still in some sleepy haze, Remy’s gaze fell down over Bond’s polo and jeans clad figure to rest very improperly under the man’s belt.

“So you’re…”

“Going commando, yes. It's more sexy sounding than comfortable, really.” With the palm not stretched towards Q, Bond adjusts himself in his blue jeans making the boffin’s mouth gape a bit, a red tongue sneaking out to lick at the thin red lips “Come on, give me back a pair of boxer shorts, the blue ones with white lining preferably, and I need to get a move to the HQ.”

The only thing to break him out of the stupor is hearing Bond’s quietly, playfully growled out “Now, Q..” that snaps him into action.

A moment later he’s handing out the wanted boxers and the blond vanishes from his doorstep without a further word.

Embarrassment catches up to him a moment later as he’s closing the door and then he’s leaning his back on the white wood and banging his head on the hard surface. 

 

*

 

It happens often after that - James just randomly appearing at his door at all time of day and night and asking for a piece of his underwear back. 

Remy moves the box to a table by the door and sometimes knowing when Bond would be back from a mission or soon sent on another, he sleeps on the couch in the living room so he doesn’t have to rush up and down the stairs all the time.

It’s been hectic again and Q’s spending long hours at work at his time and sleep at home feels like the most precious thing ever, so when he gets roused from sleep - he looks at the clock - at five bloody a.m. on a sunday he grumpily gets up and walks to the door. Reaching into the box he withdraws a pair of shorts, a pair of socks and a tie at random and clutching it all in one fist he unlocks the doors.

Without saying anything he pushes his clenched fist into Bond’s chest and waits for the man to lift his own hand up to support all the clothes. 

He’s angry, exasperated, tired, annoyed… at one point, when rainy weather arrived, he ended up starting to do and fold Bond’s laundry as the undergarments Maggie dragged in then got muddied and dirtied. And he wasn’t getting anything domestically pleasing out of it this time! One of his exes was unbelievably messy with his clothes but made up for Q taking over that part of the house choirs with cooking and baking and foot rubs, and Remy could live with that. But this arrangement? It wasn’t working out even if in the end it _was_ his cat’s fault.

Grumpily, Q pushed his fist harder into the blond's chest when Bond failed to take over his things fast enough so Q could go back to sleep. Annoyed, Remy mumbled out a "You know what? It would be so much easier if you just moved in with me."

Then he froze when he realised what he said. Feeling a blush rising on his cheeks, he cautiously moved his gaze up.

But Bond’s eyes were twinkling in amusement at him and the crooked mouth rose at the corners in a grin.

"Really, Remy? Moving in before we even shared a first kiss?" the blond bit out in a fake scandalised tone.

"Then just kiss me finally." feeling a bit bolder, Q blurts out, and James? James does just that.


End file.
